Bone white against the oranges and purples of the setting sun, they stood tall, their skeletal fingers reaching skyward. The wind whistled through their open latticework, and they hummed in chorus when they, as one, bent forward to catch the ascending moon. The single line of cold radio telescopes continued their methodical task, the arm-like bowl of their antennae sweeping eastward, away from the noise source of the sun.
Sarah Greenbough stood outside one of the Quonset huts that processed the data brought in by the delicate receivers towering over her. She pulled her flannel vest around her as the wind tried to pull it away. Her long black hair was swept back from her face by those same cold desert winds. They came nightly, at sunset, and she with them. She knew she should be with the graduate team inside, but watching the sun fall each evening was her present to herself. It was compensation for being trapped, miles from anywhere.
"Sare! Hey, Sarah!" A tall man with course, ruddy features had stepped out of the hut and onto her plain, calling for her.
"Yeah, Gene?" She raised her voice over the power of the wind.
"We got a positive track, descending! Looks like an eagle is falling!" Gene tried to wave a sheet of printout, but the wind pressed it back against his hand.
Casting a quick look back at the last crescent of sun setting behind the distant mountains, Sarah ran to join Gene in the Hissing Room.
The Hissing Room was an inside joke, really. The main processing room for Radio Imagery was filled constantly with the low hiss of deep space radiation, and only the computers could decipher the noise. Besides that, the ventilation system rattled constantly, a noise everyone learned to ignore. The common joke, told to new workers from the University, was that occasionally the rattlesnakes got in, and everyone had to check to hear what kind of hiss and rattle it was that they heard.
Now there were several people carrying coffee cups surrounding the monitor that displayed the radio images. It was easy to tell who here had tenure; they all carried their own personal coffee mugs. The grad students all used University mugs.
"Okay guys, what do you have?" To Sarah, these neat machines were only useful as a means to an end, and she hated staring at CRTs all day.
"Here and here." An older man with the beginnings of a paunch gestured at the screen in front of him. "It looks like part of a signal from an object in the high atmosphere. Track says it's doing thirty plus."
Sarah raised her dark eyebrows. The tracking station said it was traveling well above orbital velocity as it entered the atmosphere. That meant it was either a meteorite or a Defense bird. Her money was on Defense.
"Can you figure a landing site?" She grabbed her own mug, and poured some more coffee into it.
"Yeah, sure. Looks like Mexico, Florida, or the Gulf. Somewhere in that area. Hell," he laughed cynically, "maybe the DOD wants to drop a rock on Castro!" This elicited a round of laughs.
"All right, all right. Everybody back to work. The fun's over, boys and girls." As the group dispersed, Sarah snagged the rough sleeve of Gene's shirt. "Look, call this one in to Wright-Patterson. They may have dropped a satellite, and need to pick her up."
Gene nodded. And got the ball rolling.
Dana Scully entered the main office block of the J. Edgar Hoover Building without her briefcase. She'd forgotten it in her haste, and was trying to act like she hadn't forgotten a thing. She'd also overslept, and hoped no one noticed if her hair and makeup didn't seem right this morning. But as she passed the many Agents in the bullpen trying to look alert despite their red eyes, she felt a little better. She guessed this thing just happened when spring arrived.
She waved to the few people in the building she knew as she headed for the back corridors of the building. Descending a flight of stairs, she wound her way back to the storage closet she and Fox Mulder called an office. She paused before the dark brown door, reading the two names inscribed on plastic plaques there. Mentally gathering herself, she stepped inside.
Mulder had all the lights out, and a slide projector set up on her chair. He'd managed to remove his folders from his desk, and had the machine aimed at the space above his wall. He was straddling his own chair, facing her from across the room as he bit into an apple.
"Ooh, a presentation. And on a Monday. Mulder, I'm impressed," Scully said dryly as she poured herself a cup of coffee. "Did you wait long for me?"
"Not really." He took another bite out of the crisp Red Delicious and mumbled around the mouthful, "Ha' a good weekend?"
Scully flushed in the darkness, surprised that Mulder had provided her with cover. "Actually, yes. I got a lot accomplished in New York." Stirring her drink, she headed toward her corner of the room. As she walked past him, a small object dropped from her rumpled suit to the floor. It could barely be heard over the noise of the projector, and Dana unknowingly left it behind.
He swallowed his bite. "Sounds like fun. Wanna tell me about it?"
"What's to say. A bunch of doctors talking about corpses. Really fun way to spend a few days." She hoped she sounded convincing.
"Too bad. Your slip is showing." Without another word, he spun the chair back to the wall. A touch to the control wand advanced the slide machine to the first image.
It was the a series of neon green lines on a dark background.
"Let me guess. . . you taped a game of Pong, right?" Scully quipped as she checked her slip. Sure enough, it was slightly too long for her skirt. Quickly she started hiking it up.
"Close. It's from an E-C3 conducting maneuvers off the coast of Texas, in the Gulf of Mexico. And this line," he pointed to a bright track moving from west to east without looking back, "is the radar plot of an object that splashed down offshore."
Sighing, Dana perched on the edge of her desk, bumping into something warm. She looked down, and saw a large white Styrofoam cup, glowing slightly in the darkness. She guessed Mulder had left it on her desk, and sipped at it. The mocha was made the way she liked it.
"Scully, this picture's cute, too." Mulder seemed oblivious of her movements as he spoke.
Scully raised her eyebrows in the dark as Fox clicked the next slide into place. It was a detailed overhead photo of an orange and white building in the middle of a sea of blue water. Next to it sat a Coast Guard Cutter, dwarfed by the size of the construct.
"This satellite photo was taken as they arrived by a KH satellite DARPA handed over for USGS use. It shows Exxon oil rig number forty three. Six days ago, the five man team reported debris in the water, and sent a zodiac raft to check it out. Five days ago, they sent a call reporting a crewman ill, and an animal loose on the rig. That was their last radio contact.
The Coast Guard cutter, Prometheus, was dispatched at Exxon's request three days ago. You can see it alongside the rig."
"So let me guess. Something happened to the cutter." Scully turned quietly under the cover of darkness to pull a lipstick case out of her drawer, and apply some. While her back was turned, Mulder quickly scooped from the floor the item she had dropped. Then he smoothly advanced the projector to the next image.
The slide was quickly replaced by a second image. This one was from a lower angle, and showed the rig on fire, and no Coast Guard ship in view.
"A bit more than something I'm afraid." Mulder kept up his patter as though he were doing nothing while he identified the item she dropped. "This is a little over a day later. The captain reported gunfire on the main deck, and that he was being boarded."
"Boarded? Like pirates?" Scully drank some more mocha while Mulder finished off his apple and pitched the core into a trashcan.
"Well, I don't think they had eyepatches, Scully."
"What do you think?" Dana turned about to flick on the lights, and so wasn't watching Mulder when he pocketed the object.
"I don't know, but we're headed for the Gulf to find out." There was childish excitement in his voice as he spoke.
She turned back to look at him incredulously. Setting down her cup, she approached him, a line forming between her eyebrows.
"Do I really have to remind you of what happened the last time you booked us for a boat ride? Let the military handle this."
"They will. But they asked for us, this time around." Fox smiled at the subtle irony. "Your specialized knowledge of 'unknown biological hazards,' plus my own experience with 'recovered foreign objects' got us 'requested.'" Fox used his hands to shape the quotation marks. "Besides, if civilian crimes are committed, the Federal Bureau has jurisdiction."
"Wonderful. Is Big Brother throwing us to the sharks, or do we get any backup?" Dana gathered up the files Mulder had been working on, and tried to make some sense out of them.
"We get back-up, Scully. Tons of back-up." Mulder grimaced as he picked up his jacket. He slid his hand into his pocket, fingering the foil wrapped condom Scully had dropped when she walked into the office. Without another word, Fox walked past Dana, out the door.
Scully watched him leave, puzzled.
Blackhawk helicopters are insectile machines, large and threatening. The one beating its way across the deep blue waters of the Gulf of Mexico differed in no essential way. It was low and oblate, with a thick tail sticking out well past the rotor. A pair of cantilevered wings thrust out over the side doors, each mounting a single oversized fuel tank. The nose of the craft held a tremendous spike for mid-air refueling, and a reflective ball for the night vision sight. With its tail, hunched shoulders and low, glittering nose it looked not so much like a machine as a monstrous insect.
Inside, Mulder was smiling like a kid as he watched the water slide by out one of the side windows. He turned to his partner, who barely managed a smile. Dana was profoundly airsick, but the sight of Fox peering about the cabin could still rouse her sense of humor. Fox was wearing a brilliant yellow life preserver, and a large green helmet, with bulbous ear protectors. With the four-point restraints locking him to the sea gray side of the helicopter, he was quite a sight.
"It's not fair, Dana!" Fox yelled over the tremendous noise from the rotor and engine.
Dana tapped the side of her helmet, pantomiming her hand back and forth. Fox shook his head, not understanding. He gestured with his hands but Scully didn't see him. She had to close her eyes, suddenly sick at the sight of Fox's shaking head.
The speakers in her helmet came to life with a crackle, and Scully heard Mulder's voice, flattened by the electronics. "Oh. The microphone. Sorry, I forgot."
Dana swallowed, and kept her head back against the padding behind her. "What is it, Mulder?"
"I was just saying it's not fair. The military gets all the cool toys, and we have to take Delta." His soft voice was almost swallowed by the sizzle and pop of the connection.
"Mulder, I'd really rather be on a jumbo jet right now." Dana continued to breath deeply through her mouth.
"Yeah, well a seven-forty-seven would have a hard time landing on a cruiser." He glanced briefly out the window, and then back to Scully. "Besides we'll be there in no time. I can see the Elliot now."
"Great." Scully looked faintly green as the Blackhawk dropped sharply toward the foaming wake of the ship below them.
Dana refused to let go of her seat until after the sailors had tied down the helicopter to the Elliot's aft deck. But when she at last let go, she snapped off her release harness and scrambled past Mulder. She pulled the flight helmet off in a quick motion, and kept her head down until she was past the reach of the rotor blades. Once she was clear of the squat helicopter, she stood up, breathing the salty air deeply through her nose.
A moment later, Dana turned back toward the aft chopper deck, the wind whipping her hair about her face. Mulder was standing next to her, shaking a small green pill into his hand from a prescription bottle. He tried to ignore her as he dry swallowed it.
She remembered full well just how bad his seasickness was, and hoped that the scopolamine helped. "Why didn't you take that before we left shore?" She pushed her auburn hair away from her mouth as she spoke.
He didn't look away from the helicopter as he spoke. "I wanted to enjoy the chopper as much as you'll enjoy the boat."
She patted his arm sympathetically. The drugs would only take away the nausea, not the dizziness. She decided not to correct his use of the word 'boat;' from the hard cast to his hazel eyes, he wasn't in high spirits just now.
Mulder moved a step away from her, away from Dana's touch. She started to ask him about it when she was stopped abruptly by a bo'swain's whistle. Two officers in tan uniforms came through the aft causeway toward them, their faces stern. "Mulder, heads up. It's the welcoming party."
The two men stopped at regulation distance from the federal agents and assumed an 'at ease' stance that looked anything but relaxed. The man on the left was perhaps a hand span taller than Scully, and whipcord thin. His short sleeved tan uniform and open collar exposed skin so dark as to appear blue-black. The head under his blue ship's hat was completely bald, and his young face was stern.
His companion was as tall as Fox, and twice as wide. His thick chest and powerful arms seemed too big for his shirt, and his dark hair and beard were gray along the temples. But the blue eyes looking out from a nest of crow's feet were sharp and hard.
Suddenly, the black man's deep set eyes snapped right to focus on the agents.
"Agents Mulder and Scully, I presume." He barely waited for Dana's nod. "Excellent. I'm Commander Thurmann, the ship's XO. This is Lieutenant Dahburg. My men are stowing your gear forward with the rest of the team. If you will follow me."
The large ship rocked fore and aft, with sheets of spray arcing over the hull as mist. Despite the motion of the boat and the confused look on Scully's face, he and his officer turned about, and headed toward the portal they had come through moments before.
Fox looked over at Dana, smiling slightly. "Nice to meet the entertainment staff for this cruise."
When Mulder thought of a Captain's ready room, he thought of Star Trek. Mementos from prior commands, and hardbound books on shelves in a subdued room. A large desk and computer, situated in front of a window, and plush carpeting.
The reality was blindingly disappointing. Actually, the ceiling had pipes running across it fore and aft, and made Fox mildly claustrophobic. The walls were the same nondescript gray as the remainder of the ship, and the shelves held spiral-bound manuals. The desk was small, but tidy, and a Mr. Coffee was bolted to the blank wall behind it.
In place of a dignified Patrick Stewart, or energetic William Shatner, the Captain was a rotund man with faded brown hair and large glasses. The harsh lighting glinted off his bald spot and frames as they were ushered into the room, but he remained at his desk writing. He finished the page, and flipped it to the other side.
Commander Thurmann announced their arrival to the Captain before leaving. The hatch closed behind the two agents, leaving them standing in the middle of a pitching room out at sea, with a man who remained hunched over his desk.
Dana looked up at Mulder, hoping he would wait for this man to talk first. She knew he got along with the military like oil and water, but hoped he'd hold it together. She so much wanted for him not to make his usual poor first impression.
The Captain's pen scratched along the page for several more seconds. He stood, and looked back and forth between the two agents. Despite the Captain's unimpressive appearance, Mulder looked into his eyes, and felt as though he was being measured. He suddenly wished he was in his usual dark suit and tie. That kind of uniform would be comforting when faced with such a frank appraisal. As was, the man looked him up and down, from his Timberland boots and jeans, to his cotton shirt and leather jacket.
For a moment, he felt like he was twelve years old, facing his father once again.
Then his naturally ornery nature got the better of him, and he stared the man right in the eye. He'd be damned if some military jerk was going to keep him waiting, and then try to intimidate him. What he wanted was to bug this man. Badly. And Fox knew he'd be expecting some overt display. And so just to irk him, Mulder pushed, didn't look away. He just smiled knowingly.
The Captain smiled back. "Welcome to the Elliot, gentlemen. My name is Captain O'Byrn. I've been expecting you."
Mulder relaxed somewhat. "Thank you. Well, now that we're stuck out at sea, would you like to tell us what you know?" Dana let out her breath. That wasn't as bad as she'd feared.
"Son, I'm the one who requested your presence." Mulder hated being called 'son.' "You already know about the disappearance of the CGC Prometheus, and that contact has been lost with Rig forty-three."
"Yes sir, we know about those incidents," Scully politely replied.
"At present we do not know what happened at either location. Our search will begin at the rig, and expand outward. There is the possibility of terrorist involvement. As that the incident occurred within US territorial waters, any criminal activities are yours to investigate. The Navy is simply aiding in such an investigation."
Mulder had to interrupt. "Does this mean that you think terrorists are responsible for the object that de-orbited near Rig forty three?" He was daring the older man to answer.
O'Byrn leaned over his desk top. "I do not want you repeating that aboard my ship, mister. And I sure as hell will not ask where you picked up that piece of data. Am I being heard loud and clear?"
"Perfectly," Dana answered for Mulder. "What my partner was asking was the reason for our being here. Other agents would be better suited for anti-terrorist work."
O'Byrn sat down, and took off his glasses. He had brilliant green eyes, but for a moment, they seemed very tired. "I'm getting the run around from my superiors. My ship was pulled into dock, and stripped to a skeleton crew before we were sent out on this assignment. I placed my call to Director Skinner before the flash printer cooled. Agent Mulder, I got a look at the same data you did. Only my superiors did not send it to me. A friend did."
"Somehow, I don't like the sound of this." Mulder leaned against the bulkhead next to the hatch. The ship's motion was beginning to upset his stomach.
"I don't like the sound of it either. Hell, when I asked my C-in-C about it, he said a Soviet communication satellite burned up. At the same time, he placed a SEAL team on board, and set us up with USAMRIID for biowarfare gear."
Scully and Fox exchanged knowing looks. This conversation had entered Dana's area of expertise, and so she took over.
"Do you think there is a possible biological contamination in the area, Captain?" She blinked slowly as she spoke.
"I have no idea. But I know you two had some damn good luck with the USS Arden, and have seen more Class 4 biohazards than any officers I could think of." He turned away from Mulder, and smiled at his partner. "And I am sorry about dragging you into this, Dana."
Mulder had been watching O'Byrn speak, but at that he swung around to see Scully blush and smile slightly. Shocked, he looked back to see the Captain smile as well. Then he remembered. Her father had been a Navy man.
"That's part of my job, Uncle Kane." She smiled, and took Mulder by the arm. She dragged him out of the office before he had a chance to shake a comment loose.